


Ducking Out

by orphan_account



Series: Spectacular Sanders Sides Sketchy Scribbles [5]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: ...Somewhat Graphic Self-Harm?, Angst without a happy ending, Ducking Out, Gen, I'm going to say it's moderately graphic just to be on the safe side, Self-Harm, Swearing, The other sides are trying, Virgil is just having a rough time, Virgil is kinda an ass but he's trying?, everyone is trying, feelings of unworthiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22385557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "... We can't keep doing this, Virgil."In which Virgil ducks out again. And though the others seem to disagree, maybe this time it's for the better.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Series: Spectacular Sanders Sides Sketchy Scribbles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1398952
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58





	Ducking Out

“...We can’t keep doing this, Virgil.”

Virgil doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. Hell, he’s hardly even breathing at this point, muffled sobs too quiet to hear tearing at his throat. His back is to his bedroom door, the rest of the mindscape’s noise quiet and homey echoing on the other side. 

_“I know you can’t,”_ Virgil thinks. 

“You… you can’t keep ducking out. You can’t keep leaving Thomas. You can’t keep leaving _us_.” 

Virgil still doesn’t respond. He knows he should, and he wants to, _god_ he wants to, but he isn’t sure what to say. There’s so much screaming inside his skull, so many thoughts that have been building up since the last time he had ‘ducked out.’ But even with all the words banging against his brain, he can’t think of a single thing to say. 

“We… we need you, goddamnit!” The sudden shouting is accompanied with a bang against the door. Virgil flinches away at that, the smallest of whines escaping from his choked up throat. A broken sob follows, and another bang after that, though this one is much quieter and not seeming to have much energy behind it. "We... we _need_ you." 

He knew that. He knew they needed him. The group wasn’t whole without him, the group wasn’t complete without him, the group wasn’t _itself_ without him.

“..Virgil…”

_But was that really such a bad thing?_

“We’re… god, Virge, we aren’t the same without you.”

A sudden, overwhelming sense of pure hatred and revile against himself suddenly strikes him, knocking any remaining breath out of his throat. He's horrible, he's a horrible person that has somehow subconsciously manipulated the others into thinking he's good, and now here he is. They think they need him. They think they _want_ him. But in reality, he is the bane of their existence and he knows this. He causes them nothing but trouble, and he unintentionally hurts them time and time _and time and time again_. Nothing… nothing was nearby, nothing to help him relieve the pain, nothing to get it out _nothing to get it out_ nothing to hurt him in recompense for being the worst Side that the others could ask for-

“When… when you duck out like this, we’re all hurt. We… I know you think your presence hurts us, but if we’re really being honest… it hurts more when you’re gone.” 

Lies lies lies _lies lies lies lies._

His hands are tangled in his hair. He pulls. His scalp hurts _. Not enough._

“It’s okay that you panic, Virgil. I promise it is. It’s just… it’s just hard when every time a tiny mistake is made, you instantly…”

His hoodies sleeves fall to expose pale forearms. He scratches experimentally. It’s not nearly enough, but it’ll have to be enough for now. It’s hardly rhythmic or following any sort of pattern, just a frantic back and forth as his nails leave raised red lines in their wake. The burn helps a little. It's the least that he deserves. 

“You just… you don’t understand. You don’t understand how much you mean to us, how much you contribute to the group, how much… how much we love y-”

“No, Roman, **_you_ **don’t understand!” Virgil suddenly screams, voice hoarse and cracking halfway through his words. The shouted sentence seems to hang in the air for a second, even the sounds on the other side of the door seeming to quiet. And then, Virgil is shouting, voice echoing and growing more dark and warped the longer he speaks. 

**“You think you need an Anxiety to finish off the group? You think you need some… some goddamn _prick_ who holds Thomas back from everything he loves in the name of fear?”**

**“Roman, I’m a fucking _Dark Side_. I’m a Dark Side, and I don’t belong with you all. I am a stupid, self-centered jerk who is constantly pulling everyone into nonexistent or infinitesimal problems and hurting you all in the process. It’s stupid, it’s so goddamn stupid, and I _know_ it, but I can’t stop. And you know why? Because this is who I am, and I am. An. Asshole. Trying. My. Best. But my best is hurting you, and _none of you deserve that._ ”**

**“You can take my place in the group. Or... or Patton, or… goddamn it, _Logan_ could do a better job than me. I'm so easily replaceable. What’s the group going to lose? You can keep Thomas plenty safe, Logan can provide the logical reasoning that needs to be taken into account when Thomas does anything mildly dangerous, and Patton can make sure it's morally right. Right there, a better Anxiety than I'll ever be. A better asset to the group than I could ever hope to be. So tell me, Creativity, what is Thomas going to lose if I duck out? What are _you_ going to lose?”**

“...Heartfelt comments?” Roman tries, voice quiet and a little shaken, and it kills Virgil inside to hear the loud and talented, the brave and dramatic prince sounding so small. “You… you always know what to say in your own, dark and sarcastic way. You’ve helped us so much-”

“Roman, I’ve _hurt_ you all so much,” Virgil spits out in return. Because he has, he _has_ , he’s made them all panic for no reason so many times. He’s hurt the group, hurt _Thomas_ , more often than a few ‘helpful’ times will make up for. 

“...Though I nearly loathe to admit it, even I enjoy our little bouts over Disney,” Roman tries again, a tittering laugh that doesn’t sound like him nervously leaving his mouth. “You’re a delight to talk to, in your own sinister and abnormal w-”

“ _Logan_ is a delight to talk to as well,” Virgil cuts him off with another hiss. “I’m not your only goddamn friend, Ro-”

**_“Well, you’re my best friend.”_ **

Roman’s shout is choked up and raw, and Virgil can practically picture the way his jaw is probably clenching resolutely, still looking every bit the heroic and stoic prince he was even as twin tear tracks make their way down his cheeks. 

....Roman doesn’t mean that, and Virgil knows it. Or, if he does mean it in some twisted, horrible mistake on his part, he _shouldn’t_ mean it. 

Because Roman is likeable. Roman is talented. Roman is incredibly bright, and Roman can brighten the room just by walking into it. Roman is Creativity in its finest form, and Virgil can think of no more important aspect of Thomas than that. 

...and Roman is also self-doubt and insecurity. Roman is beating himself down over yet another idea, and then somehow picking himself up and making it even better. Roman is perseverance in the face of adversary, even when the adversary is himself. Roman is strong and brave in all the ways Virgil isn’t, and Virgil is so proud of him for it. 

Because in those ways, Roman is imperfectly perfect. Roman is actually necessary to the group, to Thomas. And even if he really believed that Virgil was his best friend…

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“...Th...that’s not for you to decide.”

“I know it’s not.”

“You… you can’t tell me h-how to feel, Virgil.”

“I’m an asshole, Roman. What else can I say to get it through your thick, goddamn skull?” 

His fingers tear at his arms at those words, and he bites his lip to stop himself from saying anything else. He can hear the small, hiccuping sobs from the other side of the door, and his heart drops even more. 

This is for the better. He knows this. He only hurts the people he loves, and the only way to stop that is to cut ties permanently this time. No more temporary duckouts. No more returning when Thomas inevitably is forced by the other Sides to track him down and try to convince him to return. 

… He knows his resolve is going to weaken by the next morning. He knows he’s going to want to pitifully try to reinsert himself back into the group once the first pang of loneliness strikes. He knows that this group is his family, and he loves them more than he’s loved anything else in his meaningless existence.

But he also knows that there’s a limited amount of ‘duckouts’ before the others get sick of him. That there’s only a certain amount of trouble that they’ll go to before they stop trying. There’s only so long they can put up with his anxiety and avoidance issues, his panic attacks and his deprecation, his venting and his unwarranted fears. And he knows that if he does return, only to be faced with that… he’ll break. So he can’t. He has to make this the last one, even though a part of him knows that he’ll be crawling back soon enough. 

“... Please don’t go.” The words are almost too quiet to hear, but each syllable cuts deeper and deeper into Virgil’s heart until he’s certain that he’s actually going to die. 

“Goodbye, Roman,” Virgil responds quietly, and a sob slips from his lips to fall into the icy space left in lieu of his words. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then another. Seconds turn into minutes, and a few minutes turns into what feels like hours. Tears are pouring in a steady stream down Virgil’s face, now, but he remains completely silent, even as his lungs beg for air, even as apologies and pleas for forgiveness form on the tip of his tongue, even as more sobs and heartbroken cries try to force their way from their captivity in Virgil’s choked up throat. 

He ducks out right as Roman’s quiet and stuttered voice filters through the flimsy wood of the door. 

_“...We still love you, Virgil.”_

And then the connection to Thomas’s mind is cut off completely, the connection to the Mindscape, the connection to the other Sides. It’s gone, and Virgil is free to fall to the floor and scream. He screams until his throat is hoarse and his eyes are burning once all his tears are shed. He screams as his arms go numb from how hard his nails keep digging into the pale skin repeatedly, and he screams as red stains his fingertips and the slide of the scratching become sickeningly slick. 

He knows they love him. He knows Roman is telling the truth. He knows, he knows, _he knows, he **knows**. _

But he also knows he doesn’t deserve it, and that’s what hurts most of all. 


End file.
